More of the Essential John Wyndham, page 35
“See if you can get anything out of the prisoners,” David suggested at length. “They might be — er — persuaded to talk.”
Angus stared. “You mean that they can talk? Those things?”
“I was told that some of them can — it’s worth trying.”
One of the prisoners readily admitted to a knowledge of English. Was, in fact fluent from long association with the slaves. His extremely high-pitched voice had a fraying effect on the nerves and he met with difficulties in the forms of labials, nevertheless, he was intelligible. His information caused Angus to make a complete reassortment of ideas. Hitherto, he had considered the Batrachs as he would a species of wild animal — intelligent animals up to a point, but undisciplined – governed by no other instinct than that of the herd. But the view he was now given of them as a race under central authority, pulling together towards an ideal, killed all his preconceptions stone dead. He began to see, for instance, that the piles of dead on the sight of the Martian camp represented not stupid ferocity, but determination and sacrifice. The Batrachs did not go into battle from sheer fighting instinct, but with a clear knowledge that many of their kind must fall for the eventual good of the race.
As one of his theories after another was tumbled down, it became clearer that he must take an entirely different course. He began to think of them as Bat-men, no longer as animals, a mental attitude which was the harder to adopt since hitherto no forms of life in the whole system had even competed intelligently with man. But there was one idea which underwent no readjustment — the Batrachs, whatever their status, must not be allowed to keep Earth men and women as slaves.
Angus considered deeply.
With the rescued Martians and David and the doctor they numbered now one hundred and eight. Not a trivial party, but certainly not formidable. In addition there was some shortage of arms and several men had been badly mauled. In continued skirmishes with groups of Batrachs their resistance would soon be worn down. Clearly a policy of guerilla warfare was unsuitable. He turned back to the prisoner.
“You talked about government. What form of government is this?”
Apparently there was an official council. The Batrach began to explain with some pride how it was formed. Angus cut him short. “Take us to this council,” he ordered.
The Batrach agreed with an alacrity which caused him secret misgivings. He did his best to shake them off. After all, as he pointed out to David, whatever happened, it could scarcely make their position any worse.
Before the Council
The Council Chamber, to which their guide led them, proved to be a cave of medium size, but sufficiently large to contain all the party. Word of their coming evidently preceded them, for they found a row of the creatures waiting; fifteen grey Batrachs who watched their arrival with calm, interested eyes. They sat upon a kind of stone shelf, seven to each side of one who was raised a little higher. It worried Angus a little that they showed no trace of fear, nor even anxiety, but, without delay, he plunged into the heart of the matter, addressing the central figure. “We understand that you are holding a number of men and women of Earth prisoners here?”
The other studied Angus unhurriedly. When he answered, it was in a voice of lower pitch than their prisoner’s, but still unpleasantly shrill. “We are,” he said briefly.
“And we demand that you free them at once.”
“You ‘demand?’” The Batrach showed a tinge of surprise at the choice of words. David and Joe exchanged glances. Both would have favored a less outspoken policy. The party was scarcely in a position to “demand” anything. But Angus merely nodded. The Batrach forbore to point out that they were virtually prisoners themselves. He asked: “And why do you think we would surrender prisoners to you who are useful to us?”
“Because you would stand a very poor chance of success against a warship from Earth.”
The Batrach considered. “But if we imprison you, Earth may never know.”
There was an uneasy stir among most of the Martians and Earthmen present, but Angus smiled. “That,” he said triumphantly, “is where you are mistaken. You have held the passengers from the Red Glory only because we did not know what had become of them. We thought that the ship had been destroyed. Had we even suspected the true state of affairs, you would have had a visit from a warship long ago.
“Now, however, the case is altered. The Argenta is undamaged. If we fail to return, someone will take her back to Earth and report. Should you manage to prevent this, the delay will only be slight for our destination was known to officials at home and they will shortly send out a searching party.”
His words evidently went home to the council. They started to speak in their shrill, wailing tones. The central Batrach quieted them. “It would mean the end for many of us,” he admitted, “but I doubt even your people’s power to conquer and hold all our passages and caves. It would, in fact, be better for them not to try. We could trap party after party so that they would starve. We know your weapons and we know their limitations.”
Angus shook his head. “You know only a few of our weapons.” He went on to describe in some detail the effects of some poison gases, and to tell how the heavier types could be poured into the tunnel mouths to percolate throughout the Batrach warrens and kill any who got so much as a sniff of them.
Dissension followed. A few of the Batrachs took his statement for a fairy tale, others who had heard of gases from the slaves, knew better. “But the prisoners — your own people — they would die too,” one objected.
Angus drew himself up. “It is better,” he bluffed, “for an Earth man to be dead than to be a slave. Our men would not wish to kill their own kind, but they would do it sooner than know that they lingered in servitude.”
He watched anxiously to see how this piece of heroics would be received. If it failed, he must change his tactics entirely. During the discussion which followed he kept his gaze level and steadfast. At length the spokesman addressed him again. “We will agree to your demands. The survivors from the Red Glory shall go free.”
Angus allowed himself to relax slightly, but before he could reply, David was whispering in his ear. “The others,” he was saying “the younger ones. Don’t forget them.”
At the suggestion that these also were included in his demand, a great screeching of objections arose from the council. Again the spokesman quieted the rest with a wave of his winged arm. “They are the children and the grandchildren of the others,” he said. “We call them the New Generations. They have never been on the surface. They know only these caves which are their homes — it would not be kind to them to take them with you.”
Angus and his party stared. “Would not be kind?” The effrontery of it. Would not be kind to take them into the sunlight — out of this gloomy labyrinth. He grew angry and his demands became eloquent. The Batrach listened patiently with a look in his eyes almost as though he were secretly amused. Once he began to break in with an objection. Angus swept on, brushing it aside unheard. At last he stopped. The spokesman, still with the disconcerting light in his eyes, hesitated and then gave in.
“We will agree not to stand in the way of their going,” he allowed.
Angus had won, but he was not easy. In the middle of his victory he was aware of a twinge of that same misgiving he had experienced earlier in the passages. Again it seemed too simple, and there was a something in the Batrach’s tone...
The mixed party of Earthmen and Martians was conducted to a large cave to await the coming of the slaves. A few were jubilant and confident. Man, in their estimation had triumphed again, as man always would. But the majority was alert. Like Angus they felt that all was not so cut and dried as it appeared. There was a sense if not of treachery, at least of something very like it, in the air.
A group comprising Angus, David, Joe, Torrance, the doctor and Sen-Su — the latter bandaged, but not seriously hurt — stood apart from the rest, discussing the possibilities of the situation in undertones. Torrance was emphatically of the opinion that the Batrachs were not fetching the prisoners, but mustering for a mass attack with the intention of wiping out all in the cave.
Angus did not agree. For one thing he trusted the chief Batrach’s word, and, for another, his threats of invasion from Earth had made a deep impression. All speculation was cut short by the arrival of a party of persons at the near end of the cave. One look showed David the people with whom he had recently talked.
“The Red Glory survivors,” he said.
The pitiful procession came slowly toward them. John Fordham walked a little ahead of the rest. There was no joy in his bearing – his feelings seemed too deep for that. He approached them, shuffling and tired, his shoulders bent as though they still supported his basket of ore. He looked at them with eyes which seemed to doubt what they saw. His voice quivered and broke as he asked: “Is it true, what they told us? Are we really going ‘Outside’?”
“Yes,” Angus told him gently. “It’s quite true. We’re taking you home.”
“Home.” The old man stood quite still. His arms hung slackly by his sides. His head went back as though he gazed beyond the rock about him, beyond the millions of miles of space, towards a swinging planet which was home. His breath caught in his throat. He buried his face in his hands and wept.
A woman came to David and plucked at his sleeve. “And the children?” she asked in a low tone. “The New Generation?”
“They’re coming too,” he assured her.
She received the answer in silence. Drew a breath as though to speak. Shrugged her shoulders hopelessly and turned from him to join the others. There was no joy in her manner as she imparted the news. David almost followed her to ask questions but remembered in time how his last question of the kind had been treated. He decided to wait for this puzzle to solve itself.
Up the far end of the cave another disturbance was occurring and he turned in company with the rest to discover that the New Generations were entering. Exclamations of surprise broke from both Earthmen and Martians as the stream of young men and women and children filed in. Nobody had thought to consider the probable number of the children and children’s children.
Angus had guessed at a possible hundred or so. Suddenly confronted with more than five hundred, he stared with widening eyes. Even David and the doctor though somewhat prepared were taken aback. Cleary indulged in some hurried mental arithmetic.
The newcomers, accompanied by several Batrachs, remained crowded together at the end of the cave. Most kept their gazes averted, though a few examined Angus and his party with a kind of furtive interest. Their communal attitude was one of puzzled indecision. A short discussion resulted in one man detaching himself. As he approached, David recognized the firm step and fine carriage of their late guide. At a distance of two yards from the group he stopped short, scanning them with a look of distaste. He spoke in the tone of one accustomed to lead.
“You are from ‘Outside’?”
Again that curious treatment of the final word.
“We are,” Angus replied.
“What do you want here?”
Angus’ eyebrows rose. This was scarcely the expected attitude of rescued towards rescuers. “We have come to set you free.”
“Free?” The young man was puzzled. “I don’t understand you. We are free.”
There was a puzzled silence. Angus supplemented: “We have a ship on which to take you, and your parents, back to your native planet — Earth.”
The young man continued to look mystified for a while. Then a thought appeared to strike him. With a look of growing, indignant horror in his eyes he asked: “You want us to go ‘Outside’?”
“Of course,” said Angus curtly. He did not care for the young man’s expression.
There was a muttering among the listening crowd of the New Generation. Partly nervous, but in greater part indignant. They shrank back towards the tunnel, through which they had entered.
“Look,” whispered the doctor to David, pointing towards the group of original survivors. Most of the women were staring towards the New Generations with a complex expression. David analyzed it as mingled yearning and hopelessness. He became aware that the groups of emotions in all parts of that cave fitted with none of his expectations.
“What is it?” He whispered back. “I’m all at sea.”
Cleary shook his head. “I think I’m getting it, but I’m not sure yet.”
Meanwhile, on the young man’s face, anger replaced consternation. “How dare you make such a suggestion?” he demanded. “No doubt you think that by those — ” he pointed at Angus’ weapons “ — that you can force us. It may surprise you to know that you underrate us — we are not cowards. Get back to your filth. Get back to your ‘Outside’. I am ashamed that our women have been allowed here to hear such an infamous, indecent suggestion. Had I known that they were to be exposed to such ignominy as this I would — ”
Angus stepped forward, eyes narrowed. The young man recoiled – not from fear, but as though he avoided contamination. He turned around and addressing the crowd of the New Generation, already moving to the tunnel. “Go!” he shouted. “Go before the evil from outside can touch you.”
He wheeled back to face Angus. His face was a study in abhorrence, hut he stood his ground, warding off the other from his people. Angus advanced slowly, bewildered. He put out his hand to press the other aside. The young man gave a cry of disgust, tore off the garment Angus had touched as though it were unclean, and hurled it from him. A loathsome reptile might have inspired the look which now dwelt in his eyes. A quick glance showed him that the last of his people were leaving. Without another word he turned and strode after them.
The silence of consternation held the cave. One voice rose at last to break it: John Fordham’s. “My son,” he cried. “My son.”
But the retreating figure marched into the tunnel with never a backward glance.
The Power of the Batrachs
Angus broke his trance of astonishment. Several of the Red Glory women had begun to sob desolately, hopelessly. He called Sen-Su to his side. Looking into his eyes he said: “Sen-Su, can we work together?”
The Martian smiled slightly. “Because I asked that question, they condemned me to exile. My whole faith has been that men should work together instead of exploiting one another.”
“And so they shall, by the Lord. We Earthmen have been a pack of fools — you’ve convinced me of that, Sen-Su. Henceforth, I’m with you Martians. When we get back to Earth — ”
“But now we are still on Asperus,” Sen-Su pointed out. “What do you wish me to do?”
“I want you to tell some of your men to take these Red Glory people to the surface, and to the ship. I’ll send some of mine along too, to explain to old Jamie that it’s on the level. Will they do that?”
Sen-Su nodded and turned to address his men in lilting Martian. A number of them crossed over and posted themselves beside the rescued. “And the rest of us?” he inquired, turning back.
“The rest of us are going to get the New Generations out of this warren, whether they like it or not,” snapped Angus.
“You’ll never do it,” Cleary prophesied quietly.
Angus glared. “Who says?”
“I do. You don’t know what you’re up against.”
“I know that these damned Batrachs are holding them somehow.”
“I doubt it. I don’t believe that the Batrachs could persuade them to go. They’ve been clever. They’ve hit mankind in his weakest spot. Damned clever.”
Angus shrugged his shoulders and went about directing the departure of the rest. The survivors at length trailed away, a weary, dejected lot. Some seemed half afraid to leave their prison. Twenty-five years is a long time, and their children had refused to go…
As the last of them disappeared a company of grey forms flew out of a large tunnel and up the cave. Angus’ hand flew to his knife and then dropped as he recognized the Batrachs of the Council. The creatures alighted a few yards away and closed their wings. The leader advanced. “They would not go?” he asked Angus.
“You knew damn well they wouldn’t go. What I want to know is, why wouldn’t they go? How did you stop them?”
“We did not stop them. They could have gone had they wished.”
“You did not hypnotize them? They were free?”
This time the Batrach really smiled. “Freedom. How often have I heard the slaves speak of it? — It is the obsession of your race. What is freedom?”
It occurred to Angus that this was not the simple question it sounded. He wrestled with it awkwardly: “The power to do as you want.”
“Then the New Generations are indeed free.”
Angus gave it up. “I don’t believe you,” he said bluntly.
“Nevertheless, it is true. If you took the New Generations away by force — as perhaps you might — you would take them from happiness to misery.”
“I don’t believe that, either. How can they be happy down here in these burrows?”
“You don’t appreciate your own point. ‘Freedom is the power to do as you want.’ — Has it not occurred to you that the ‘want’ might be suggested?”
Angus frowned. Someone else had lately spoken of suggestion. Yes, Sen-Su had referred to it as one of the great forces. He looked at the Martian and saw comprehension dawning in his eyes.
“Come,” said the Batrach. “Words won’t convince you. I must show you why the New Generations will stay.”
He turned and led the way up an ascending passage. As he went he talked, giving them what was in effect an amplification of Fordham’s explanation to David. The Batrachs, he reiterated, were making a great bid for the future of their race. They had knowledge, but they could not make even so simple a thing as a book to store that knowledge for the benefit of future generations. The Batrach held up his clumsy wing claw. What, he asked them, could be accomplished with so crude an instrument as that? They had tried always to educate the claw, but it was little use compared with even an uneducated hand with the advantage of the power to grip. They had been forced to turn to other methods.
